


Meeting the Professor's Son

by mrs_squirrel_chester



Series: Professor John Winchester [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angst, Chuck Shurley AU, Chuck Shurley Angst, Crazy Chuck, Crazy Chuck Shurley, Crazy Chuck angst, F/M, Female Reader, Female Reader fluff, Fluff, John Winchester AU, John Winchester fluff, Lawyer!Sam Winchester, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Mental Institutions, Profeesor!Chuck Shurley, Professor!Chuck, Professor!Chuck Angst, Professor!John, Professor!John Winchester, Schizophrenia, lawyer!Sam, sam winchester au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 16:30:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6058243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_squirrel_chester/pseuds/mrs_squirrel_chester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After committing her best friend, reader meets John Winchester’s son. Meanwhile, Chuck is still battling the war with his schizophrenia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meeting the Professor's Son

You sat up with a strangled gasp, sweating and panting as you gathered your bearings. The marks that decorated your neck and shoulder still ached from where Chuck had grabbed you, forcing you to your knees. Speaking of your knees, they were red, purple, and extremely tender. Hissing, you turned to sit on the edge of the bed; head hung and elbows on your thighs as you ran your hands through your hair.

You couldn’t believe that you were here right now. Not here as in John’s bedroom, but here as in having your best friend physically injure you. Never did you ever think that you’d have to commit him against his will. And never did you ever think that your best friend would be capable of murder. 

Yes, you knew Chuck would never hurt a fly, let alone kill someone.You had seen what he was capable of before finding a regime that worked for him, but it had never been that bad. But he had been off his medication for quite a while now, and that alone was enough to… well, scare you. So yeah, seeing the dark gleam in his eyes, hearing the hatred on his tongue, seeing the blood on his hands; you couldn’t help but imagine him killing someone.

The running of water and clattering of a coffee pot drew your attention to the ajar bedroom door. Standing, you pulled on one of the borrowed, well-washed concert t’s that was probably older than you and barely covered your ass. You made the last second decision to brush your teeth and throw your hair into a high, sloppy bun before emerging.

Bisou was at your side almost immediately, tongue hanging out as you scratched behind her ears, panting happily. The smell of coffee pulled you through the living room and into the kitchen where you saw the wide shoulders and long legged stance of John.

At least you thought it was John until you wrapped your arms around his waist, sighed as you rest your cheek between his shoulder blades, and his head shot up.  

You jumped back as long hair came into view, “you’re not John.“

“I could say the same thing about you.”

Bisou stood on her back legs as she jumped on the stranger, tail wagging, and ears pushed back. That made your heart stop pounding only slightly.

“Who are you?”

After pushing the dog off his stomach, he held out his hand, “I’m Sam Winchester.”

Oh yeah. Now you remembered the late night conversation you and John had.  “I’m Y/N.”

Sam smiled, pushing dimples deep into his cheeks, “sorry for the scare. Dad suggested getting some coffee made if I got here before he did.”

You released his giant hand and suddenly remembered that you were wearing only a t-shirt and panties. “I - uh… I’ll be right back.” Before Sam could answer, you jogged into the bedroom and pulled on a pair of jeans.

A steaming cup of coffee was on the table across from Sam. “I take it John didn’t tell you I took the red eye last night?” His dimples flashed again as he took a long pull from his mug.

Bisou dropped her head on your thigh as you sat and took a deep breath of the coffee before pouring in some hazelnut creamer. “Oh, he probably said something about it, but it was a late night, and I was pretty wiped.” On instinct, you rest your hand on the back of your neck, tracing over the bruised handprint Chuck left behind.

“You ok,” Sam asked with a tilt of his head.

You hummed in response to a question you didn’t really hear. It wasn’t until a large hand covered yours that you met his multi-colored eyes, “sorry. What was that?”

“You’re worried about him, your friend.”

“And scared. I’ve seen him have some pretty bad episodes before, but nothing like this. The way he looked at me-” shuddering at the memory, you involuntarily turned your hand over and squeezed Sam’s.

“I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to be completely honest.”

Swallowing hard, you slid your hand from his, “ok.”

Sam sat back, pulling his shoulders up, “do you think Chuck is capable of murder?”

With tears in your eyes and a thick throat, all you could do was shrug.

* * *

Staring out the window, Chuck had a hand threaded in the grey curls on his crown, tugging at them with every sway of his body. His thoughts were a jumbled mess and he struggled with figuring out what the truth was. Flashes of different people flickered in his mind with each crack of thunder and lightning. The storm was only getting worse.

 _Doctor Singer_  
Dick Roman  
Y/N  
John Winchester  
Meg, the whore of Hell

The final memory that drove Chuck to his knees was of Y/N, crying, on her knees in a dark and dirty alley, and his hand was on the back of her neck; squeezing until his fingers turned white.

 _What have I done?_ A sob climbed out of his throat mere seconds before the next flash of lightning. The entire room was engulfed in a bright, white light that hummed with electricity.

Chuck landed on his ass with a grunt, the shed tears dried as the borderline ear piercing hum faded. It was when a hand squeezed his shoulder that his eyes snapped into focus.

“Chuck, are you alright,” Kelsey asked as she knelt in front of him. Concern ate at her features as she stared at him with intense blue eyes.

He watched in fascination as the shadow of her wings flickered on the wall with each pulse of lightning. “I… you… wh- what are you doing here?”

Helping him stand, she took a look at her watch, “it’s time for your medication.”

“N- no. I just took some.”

It wasn’t hard to see the bags under his eyes, “have you slept?”

Chuck didn’t like the way this conversation was going, “I’m not sure what that has to do with anything.”

“Now, Chuck, you know how important sleep is. Aren’t you tired?”

 _YES!_ He started to back away as he shook his head, “NO! I… I don’t want to sleep.”

“What are you afraid of?”

 _Everything! I don’t want to remember._ “Nothing!”

“Would you like me to bring in Doctor Singer?”

 _YES!_ The edge of the bed bit into his legs, forcing him down to the thin mattress. “N- no?”

“I think it would be a good idea.” A flash of lightning lit up the room, bringing the shadow of her wings to the forefront of his mind. They fluttered in the breeze as she held out the little dixie cup of pills.

The multitude of voices were silenced when she smiled down at him, hands with pills and water held out in offering. With a look of awe, Chuck accepted the gifts, whispering about his guardian angel.

* * *

Sam sat at the table while his father leaned back against the counter, one foot draped over the other, and his hands shoved into his pockets. “I don’t know, this whole thing could be pretty tricky.”

“He didn’t do it, Sammy.”

“It doesn’t look that cut and dry,” the file fell closed with an almost silent swish of paper.

John looked into the living room where Y/N was resting on the couch. She was curled into the corner, eyes closed, and an arm draped over Bisou. “Don’t let her hear you say that.”

Sam followed his father’s gaze, “dad, I practice family law. You know, things like divorce, custody, accusations of abuse. But this,” he spread a hand over the file, “this is criminal.”

“So you won’t help, is that what you’re saying,” John asked while crossing his arms.

“No! No, no. I’ll help, I just might need to call for reinforcements.”

John wiped a hand over his face, “I’m sorry, son. This thing had us all on edge.”

Sam nodded in agreement, narrowing his eyes slightly, “there is something different about you.”

“Well I’ve gotten more grey since Christmas,” John stroked his beard, winking playfully at his son.

Rolling his eyes, Sam gave a shake of his head, “no, dad, that’s not it. I can’t put my finger on it.”

“I’m happy. Happier then I’ve been in a while.”

At the wistful look on his father’s face, Sam looked over his shoulder at the couch. Bisou’s tail slapped against Y/N’s thighs several times. She stirred in her sleep, her grip tightening in the dog’s fur before slowly relaxing. “Dad, she’s so-”

“If you say ‘young’, I’ll whollup you where you sit.”

“Please! You haven’t been able to whollup me since I was shorter than you.” Crinkles formed at the edges of their eyes as they shared a laugh.

Sam stood and crossed the kitchen, mirroring the stance of John. “Whatever is going on with you two, if you’re happy, that’s all that matters.”


End file.
